Life, Taught Me to Die
by Abluvion
Summary: Peeta comes back from The 74th Hunger Games, without Katniss the love of his life. Gale and Madge are reaped during the Third Quarter Quell. Drama and pain ensue.  Gale/Madge  mild Peeta/Katniss
1. Chapter 1

_"Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"_

_"You won't be going to the Capitol,"_

It was the morning of the reaping for the Third Quarter Quell, and my mind was running a mile a minute. I recalled my bitter, short-lived, conservation with Gale Hawthorne so long ago and it ran a sour taste over my tongue. It didn't feel like I was safe, and being the mayor's daughter didn't give me the assuredness I was hoping for, begging for. But still I dressed in my pretty white lace dress that came to my knees, with gold colored sandals and my hair in loose curls framing my face. I was a bundle of nerves and I waited by the side door, waiting for the time to come to walk to the Square where I would be herded with my age group, the sixteen-year olds and then I would silently wait while everyone eyed me about being the mayor's daughter. A brief knock jolted me out of my reverie and I sighed, jumping down off the counter to open the door, expecting some Peacekeeper or one of my father's coworkers. Instead I was staring at the chest of a much taller Gale Hawthorne. He was dressed in the same shirt he wore for the last reaping, and smelled of pine needles and something sweet that I couldn't place.

"Hello, Gale."

"Um, mornin', Madge." He shuffles around and looks behind him, probably seeing if he can escape back the way he came, coward.

"What brings you here so early?" I clear my throat and stare at my feet, somehow this encounter has an awkward feel to it, one that makes me shift my weight from one foot to the other anxiously, waiting for his answer.

"I…don't know, really."

"We still have an hour then, want to walk around a bit then go to the reaping?" When I bring up the reaping he clenches his jaw and then unclenches it, and I regret ever asking him to walk with me.

"I guess." He shrugs and motions for me to go outside. I scrawl a note on a pad of paper with my favorite pen, telling my father I won't be going with him to the reaping, I'm walking with a friend.

We don't talk for a while and the silence becomes unnerving, I still don't know why he came to my house, he only ever came with berries, and that was only with Katniss when she was alive. And then I realize all at once that he's scared, fearless Gale Hawthorne is scared of the reaping because she was killed.

"Brings back bad memories, doesn't it?" I ask, in the softest tone I can, trying to be gentle.

"Of course." He snaps, and I wonder why he even bothered to walk with me for so long.

"I miss her all the time, I don't have anyone to talk to anymore." I can see his jaw clench again and wish I could retract my comment. He must feel way worse than I do, having known her his whole life. But I can't take my words back so I wait for his snarky comment to come, praying it isn't too rude.

"Me too, Madge, every day." His voice breaks at the end and I wonder if he's going to cry, it doesn't seem like it, he's tough, but today of all days, he just might.

We pass the bakery and he curses under his breath, we can see Peeta Mellark moping on the front step, wearing a fine pressed shirt smeared with flour, the same flour that is laced through his hair. He doesn't seem very happy for a victor to the 74th Hunger Games, though if I had to watch the one I loved die so I could live, I wouldn't be so happy either. He looks up and meets my eye, he flicks his hand up for a moment in greeting and I smile back, just a little, so I won't upset Gale. He picks himself up from the step and his pant leg lifts to reveal his Capitol engineered leg, he pushes it back down and hobbles up the steps, slowly and painfully. He'll be seated on the makeshift stage today, next to Haymitch Abernathy, the only two winners D12 has ever produced.

"He looks empty, just like he died in the arena." I sigh, my thoughts exiting my mouth before they fully register to my brain.

"If he did, Katniss might have won." He snaps, his voice laced with acid. He storms ahead towards the Square and I run after him, my head hanging low, feeling like an idiot.

"Sorry…"

"Shut up." He grunts, pressing faster toward the Square.

"Fine." There's no fight in me today so I shut my mouth and we walk in silence towards the Square, where we're herded into our respectable pens and I watch him from afar, carefully counting how many times he clenches his jaw. I thank my father for my impeccable eyesight.

50…

56…

71…

92…

"Welcome, citizens of District 12!" Effie shouts like a chipmunk on steroids, I block her voice out like I do at most of the dinners we host at our extravagant home, supplied for the very reason to host unbearable dinners.

Sometime after I peek over at Gale and notice he's staring straight ahead at the ball full of his name. He's nervous and biting his lip, like he senses something that I don't and then I realize, he has a feeling he's going to be picked. I find myself more worried for him than I am for myself, and realize all too late that I should have prepared myself for when Effie reached into the giant ball, drawing out a shimmering sheet of paper.

"Margaret Undersee!" Gale is gaping at me, and so is the rest of the town, it's come to them now, even before me, that not even the mayor's daughter is safe from the Capitol.

I'm in a stupor, and when I reach the stage all I can do is grip the skirt of my dress in my clenched fists and hope I don't faint, or throw up, or both. Haymitch stumbles over to me and whispers something about a Maysilee, who I don't know and then he falls at my feel, in a giant heap, causing me to squeak in disapproval.

"My oh my, it appears we have the mayor's daughter here, what a lucky girl!"

Lucky isn't the words I would have picked but I stare blankly at her instead of screaming and ripping out her bright blue hair. She says something about it being an honor and I tune her out again, up until the big ball with the boys names screeches to a halt and she pulls out a slip of paper, snaps the paper so it makes a crisp noise, and reads out the name of the boy that will either kill me, or be killed by someone or something else in my vicinity.

"Gale Hawthorne!" The first thing anyone hears is his little sister Posy, her bloodcurdling scream rips into my ears, and she screams over and over again for her big brother and I watch him come up on the stage, not hearing his velvet tread. He doesn't look me in the eyes, and if I had to take a guess, he was already planning how easily it would be to kill me. There was that kind of look in his eye, and hell, I was a good judge of character.

We were supposed to shake hands, a mandatory thing, but instead he shoots me the stink eye and holds his arm firmly to his side. I want to cry, oh why did we have to fight this morning? Adding more fuel to the ever-candescent fire of Gale Hawthorne, I suppose while fighting down the bile rising in my throat. We stare each down for a while, while Effie bids goodbye to the crowd of people, probably already wishing me dead. My father places a hand on my shoulder and soon it's wrenched from me and was being forced behind the curtain and into the train. It's odd, and soon I realize we don't get to say goodbye, this thought must have occurred to Gale as well because he looks broken, he won't get to say goodbye to his big family. Peeta is standing in the middle of a huge room, with a television the size of the wall and a couch, made of red leather, ringing the room, looking plush and inviting. I push past him and follow the Avox to my room. I've been on a Capitol train once, but nothing like this, this one is extravagant and even less inviting than its interior seemed.

I wrench off my stupid dress, and strip down till I'm naked and shower for what seems like forever. I exit the steaming room to find an outfit waiting for me, black silken pants that cinch at my ankles and a blouse, short sleeved and crisp white. I slip it on with a pair of undergarments I find in a drawer and pad out into the room from before, after tying my long hair into an intricate knot on top of my head. I find Gale sitting on the couch wearing black pants and a long sleeve white shirt. _Great, they already have us matching, _I sigh. He's barefoot as well and I pad over to the couch and take a seat, reaching for a plate piled high with tiny sandwiches, picking one with cucumber in it. You can tell he hasn't touched it, so I pick one out that I think he'll like and hand it to him. He looks at it – sniffs it even – and then devours it in one go, grunting in approval. At least he didn't yell at me for helping him like before. Soon Peeta and Effie join us, sitting opposite of us on the couch. We're going to watch the other tributes be picked, lovely.

First is D1, and I hold my breath in, knowing the Careers will be fierce and all too unforgiving. The first name called is a female one "Shimmer", she saunters up on stage, and she's tall, 6 foot at least, she looks scary too and I cringe into the couch. She has soft red hair that's cropped short to her head and her skin is pale, but beautiful. The next name to be called is "Flicker", he's tall as well, and ripped as far as I can tell, his hair is like spun gold and his skin is pale and smooth looking. I find him attractive, but then drawback, knowing he might kill me and thinking he's attractive is just stupid.

Second comes D2, and the bile in my throat is threatening its way to the surface, out all over the expensive clothes I know I'm wearing, however plain they seem. The first to come to the stage is a scrawny young girl, looking barely fed, who is soon walking off the stage again and is replaced by an average height girl with a vicious grin. She looks eighteen and must have realized she was coming up on her last chance to win, it's sickening. She's muscular but pretty with dark colored hair that comes to her shoulders, curly and wild. She announces her name as "Rika" and grins down into the crowd, probably to her family. The second name to be called is "Nicol" and he saunters up to the stage. He's tall, but lanky and I'm taken aback by how sad he looks. The announcer says something about him being Clove's brother and I realize that his sister died in the last games, tragic as it is, I know he's going to be out for revenge.

I don't pay attention to the other districts, rather I curl up and go to sleep right there on the couch, the buzz of the voices drifting away from me as I drift into a nightmare. I wake up to some movement on the couch and I see the television is frozen on our reaping, frozen on my face. I look lost, and I regret not crying because now the tears just won't come. I turn and see Gale sitting there, a death-like grip on the remote, staring at my face. I move and open my mouth to speak and I startle him, causing him to drop the remote.

"Shouldn't you go to bed? We're meeting our stylists tomorrow." I mumble in the darkness, noticing that it's obviously late at night. He yawns and stretches, but doesn't move.

"I think we should stop being friends now, Madge, this will be hard enough without any emotional ties."

"No matter how hard I try to convince myself that it's the right thing to do, it still hurts too much." I sigh and stand up in the darkness, searching for something to help me get to my room. A blanket falls to my feet and I realize that someone put it there, but push out the thought that it could have been Gale. He's going to need to win this for his family, so I decide to let him kill me if he has to. It's the best I have to offer him now.

"I know, Madgey, _I know_." There's something about how he uses my nickname so nonchalantly that strikes me, and makes me feel like I've been slapped. I stumble my way up the hallway and leave him in front of the television, the light of the screen dancing off his hardened face. I don't know how I'm just supposed to sit by and watch these games destroy him all over, but instead of doing anything about it, I slip into my room and fall into my bed, dreaming of murder and insanity.

I'm shaken awake several hours later with strong, male hands, one covering my mouth, the other gripping my shoulder firmly. It takes me a moment but I squint into the darkness and see Peeta Mellark seated next to me, his face unreadable. I should have approached him earlier, then maybe he wouldn't have woken me up so late, but he's here now and I pull his hand from my lips. However, he speaks first.

"I'm sorry, Madgey, I really am." His use of my nickname is more comforting than Gale's, and it gives me a familial sense. Peeta was like a brother to me in D12 and it's nice to hear his voice amidst the darkness.

"It's alright Peeta Rabbit, it's hard, but you couldn't do anything to stop it either." I throw in his nickname, one I used when I was barely 5 when he used to come over to draw with me. He slips his hands around mine and squeezes them tight, and finally tears threaten to overflow in my eyes.

He's still wearing the clothes from earlier, but they're crumpled and his shirt is untucked. His fake leg is sticking out at an awkward angle and he catches me staring at it and curses under his breath, I know he hates it, he confided in me about it when he came home.

"_Madgey?" His voice shakes me out of my stupor; I had been staring into space for what seemed to be ages. _

"_Welcome home, Peeta Mellark." He sighs and collapses in a chair, complaining about his leg and how he sometimes still feels it._

"_This blasted leg, with the Capitols engineering you would think they would've made it easier to walk with." I give him a pained look; it's all I can do. We're seated in my room and he's still in the clothes he walked off the train in, it's only been a few hours and I found him standing outside my door, crying his eyes out. They're dry now and the only evidence is the splotchy red skin around his eyes._

"_How'd it happen?"_

"_You mean they didn't show it?"_

"_I don't really know, they might have, I didn't watch." He nods in understanding and breathes in heavily, waits a moment then sighs and begins._

"_They set fire to the arena, to drive us all together, it was a good idea but I think it was put there to play with 'the girl on fire', y'know?" I nod, and he continues. "I ran into Katniss then and she didn't even raise her bow like I figured she would, she just ran away, but for some reason I followed her. She was smart, she could find us a place where the fire couldn't reach, I think that's why I went after her, and I wasn't going to kill her. I didn't get that far and by now there were only three of us left: Cato, the guy from D2, and Katniss and me. He found us first and cornered her, I tried to help her but he speared my leg, I couldn't even move. You know how much I love her, er, _loved_ her, don't you Madgey?" His voice catches and I flinch, hoping he doesn't cry. I wouldn't know how to comfort a crying man, I wouldn't know what to say. _

"_Like a proper romance novel, please continue Peeta Rabbit." He nods and keeps going._

"_By the time I got myself free, yanked the damn spear right out, I was bleeding out over the forest floor. She screamed something that I didn't hear and he snapped her neck, and just like that she was gone." This had turned into him spilling his regrets more so than how he lost his leg, but I let him press on._

"_Something came over me then and I sprang on Cato like an animal, dragging his spear with me. And then he was gone too and I blacked out and the next thing I knew my leg was gone and I was sitting in a hospital bed with a bunch of Capitol assholes staring me down outside a glass wall."_

He's holding me now and I'm crying into his shirt and he's saying he'll train me to be the best but I know there's not enough time and I'm not willed enough to win. He's petting down my hair and every so often he'll run his finger across my shoulder blade drawing pictures of things I can't see. I'm on his lap now and I'm held against his chest and he's mumbling about how I can't die and how I don't deserve it, and I can't think of a single reason why I don't.

"First Katniss, now Madge, you've got a sick liking for girl's that are gonna die, Peeta Mellark." A voice scoffs from the doorway and I recognize it instantly, knowing it belongs to Gale.

I'm pushed off his lap and he stands painfully, letting out a slight grunt and pushes his way past Gale out into the dark hallway. I dry my eyes with my sleeve and stand to address Gale for speaking a hell of a long way out of line but instead he turns on his heel and leaves, not letting me explain. But I convince myself that I don't need to explain myself to him and sit in a chair in the corner of my room and wait for my stylists to come. Sleep refuses to come to me so I wait and wait and wait for hours until day break.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm greeted officially by my stylist, a short and stocky man named Lancelot, who I call Lance for short. He's rude and all over insufferable and I hope Gale is getting the same, dull treatment as I am. He rambles on for what seems to be hours about how I'm "curvy" a word more or less used to describe that, although well fed, I'm still skinny as a twig but have hips. He makes a comment on my legs and strokes them and I hate it because no one's ever touched my body and right now I'm standing butt naked, freshly washed and all that, being stared at by a small man in a purple suit. He brings in a dress, or if you could call it that, and it becomes apparent that I won't be wearing much at all. The dress is coal black and when he shakes it, it gives the appearance of coal dust falling off of it, but none hits the ground and I'm mesmerized by it all. He brings out another piece, a hair piece and it looks like fire, so real I might burn. But I reach out and touch it anyways and it's cool to the touch. He hands me skimpy undergarments and I take them, and put them on, thankful for anything, if not much, to wear. He follows this then with the dress and it's tight to my skin, so much I can't even breathe. It hugs my thighs and I find it hard to walk but I do anyways because he asks me to. He fits my golden hair with the headpiece and I have to admit it's stunning. Then he brings out shoes and I nearly faint at the sight of them, being as short as I am, these will most likely make me as tall as Gale, so I slip them on and feel the atmosphere thin. They're matching the headpiece, smoking like embers and I realize I'm running a poor example for a sexually driven piece of coal. My makeup is dark and sultry and they've pumped something into my lips to make them bulge and I'm told they look "delightfully kissable." I shudder.

We're supposed to ride around on horse driven carriages around a stadium soon and I can't help but snort. It all seems too glamorous, so unlike anything D12 has ever produced, expect maybe Katniss, and that's only because the Capitol changed her for the worse. I'm seated in a hallway now after being rushed out of the train amidst a sea of strange people decorated with strange colors and foreign things. I don't hear him until he clears his throat and I open my eyes and I'm taken aback by how stunning he looks, but also how they've played up his features to make him look like a sex-god. I can tell I'm blushing before I realize I'm staring and then he blushes as well and starts to laugh. I try to laugh but only a tiny squeak comes out and I realize I'm incapable, so instead I swallow down my voice and pat the seat next to me while we wait for our gleaming carriage to come and carry us away. He looks hesitant at first and I take the time to look him over, never meeting his eyes. His skin is tan and he stands tall, like a statue. He's bare-chested, revealing scars of all sorts, and there's coal black pants that are tightfitting hanging from his hips, probably to match my dress. When he saunters over to sit down they shake out the strange coal dust mirage and I notice he's wearing smoldering shoes, to match mine. His wrists are adorned with smaller bands like my hair piece that smolder and burn like real live fire and I reach out to touch them only to get my hand swatted away.

"I suppose they didn't think sweet and innocent fit you then?" I know who he's referring to, my stylist, the Capitol themselves and I scoff.

"Apparently I'm 'curvy', which is a good enough excuse to dress me like a cheap whore." I mumble, and try frantically to pull the dress down, which only works in showing off more cleavage. I desperately wish for a sweatshirt of some kind to throw on or one to suffocate myself in_. Anything but this,_ I think, _anything but this humiliation_.

He mumbles something back about me being too pretty to look like a cheap whore and I smile, painfully but still, it's real. He reaches out to touch my hair, and flinches at the last second, turning away. I know why he does this though, so I don't press on, because we're supposed to kill each other in the end. But I'll be damned if I don't let him win, even if it means him killing me, not that I'll last that long. He has so much more to offer to those around him and I can't deny this, not after seeing it firsthand, in what seems like a lifetime ago. I've seen him pull Prim away from the stage so she didn't have to suffer when Katniss volunteered. I've seen him play with Posy and Rory and Vick, a whole different side of him I stumbled across. I've seen him hunt till his hands were raw and his muscles ached so he could feed his family. And All I can think is _"who's going to do it if he doesn't come home?"_

People from the Capitol rush from all corners and herd us to where our chariot awaits and I stumble and catch myself on Gale's arm so I don't fall. My feel blister and it'll be a wonder if I don't crack off my ankles before the Games. We're told hurriedly from Haymitch to "seduce" the crowd, but I don't know what this means so I stand there dumbfounded, scared for what will come next. The lights flash on and the horse bucks and shoots forward, before slowing to a respectable speed. I don't look around to see the other tributes, I don't want to. I stand there without knowing what to do until Gale grabs my waist and pulls me close, arching my back against him so the front of my body is touching his side. He slips his hand close to my rear and I gasp, but guessing what he's getting at I snake an arm around his waist and into his pants pocket, while running my perfectly painted fingernail over his abs, causing him to shiver. And for the crowd I giggle, as fake as ever and blow them all a kiss, feeling utterly disgusting, my skin writing. I can tell he's doing this both for the sex appeal and to steady me so I don't fall over, and I take comfort in this small fact. We're waving and I'm blowing kisses and Gale's fixing the crowd with a smoldering glare, enough to melt their eyes right out of their heads. While this is happening I inspect his scars, and the amount that he has scares me. There's a once deep-looking pulled and shining scar going across his upper chest and I shudder at the thought of how it could have gotten there, but I don't dare to ask.

I don't dare look at his back either, because I already know what's there. Tight scars pulled over his bronze skin, taught and vicious looking. It's from when he was whipped for poaching a turkey over the fence surrounding D12, and somehow, that seems so much worse to me than this and I have no idea why.

Quicker than it starts, it's over and we're rushed out and I only realize later that I'm gripping his arm, so tight I can see the skin go white. He doesn't shove me off and I take this as a good sign, as good as I'm going to get from him anyways. Effie tells us when we have to go to training tomorrow and we're hustled into our room, opposite the hall from each other and our doors bang closed in unison.

I'm tearing at the dress before I hear the distinct click of the door closing, desperate to find how I can get it off, and when it becomes apparent that I can't, I take the nail file from my dresser and tear through to fabric, tearing it down to side and watching it fall to the floor in a small heap. And soon I'm screaming, and wordless screeches rip out of me and leave me breathless. I throw a lamp at a mirror and as it breaks I slip to the ground and start to cry, this is where I feel most vulnerable and I hate it. No one comes to help me and I scream louder, a privilege I didn't have with an ill mother. I'm clawing at the carpet and my vision is blurred by my tears, there's a weakness about me and I just want my father, I just want my daddy to come save me like I always believed he would. There's a hurried knock at my door but I don't get up, not by choice, but because I'm held down by my own heart.

When I don't answer the door there's silence and then I hear the click of the door as it swings open. I'm on my knees and my hands are resting on my thighs, I'm aware I'm scantily clad, but I'm too tired to care. There's no light, so when the person that opened the door steps on fallen glass he jumps, cursing, and bangs into me. The voice is recognizable and it's easy to tell it belongs to Gale. _He probably came in here to tell me to shut up, it's not fair though, _I think_, he can be broody and moody, but I can't scream?_ The light flicks on and hurts my eyes, and I bring my hands up to cover them, shivering involuntary. He gasps and there's a ruffling of something near my bed, I don't look up and by now I'm curled up, my head resting on my knees, my arms wrapped tight around. A moment passes and then something is thrown over me, it's rough and warm, a blanket.

"C'mere Madge." He pats something, and I realize he's sitting on my bed. I mumble something incoherent and stand, shakily, drawing the blanket tight around my torso, my hair tangled and my makeup running. He sighs and I seat myself next to him, tucking my legs beneath me. I curse myself for being so vulnerable, but I don't feel like putting on an act.

Time passes and we sit there, shoulders brushing, his hands folded in his lap, while he taps his feet on the floor. He's changed now, wearing a grey t-shirt and loose pajama pants that hang off his waist. He's barefoot and I watch him tap his toes, noticing tiny scars on his feet and a tiny cut from where he stepped on the glass. There's a rusting of the sheets and he wraps his arm around my shoulder and I melt into him, and we fit together like something wonderful. He plays with my hair and mumbles about how it looks like spun gold, I don't answer him, knowing if I open my mouth I'll say things he doesn't want to hear. The blanket slips from my shoulders and gathers at my waist when he shifts and by now I'm aware of how close we are, so I jump up, taking the blanket with me, retiring to a corner.

"I can close my eyes while you change… I'd like to stay though; I think we need to talk." It's late now, I can tell, but he stares at me intently, and for some reason he's being awfully nice, too nice.

I firmly instruct him to turn his back and he grins but complies, so I root through the drawers until I find proper undergarments and a nightdress with short sleeves and a long skirt. I change hurriedly and walk over to him, poking him on the back to let him know I'm decent. He pulls me down to the bed and I sit across from him, hugging a deep red pillow to my chest, my legs tucked underneath me.

We sit like this for a while and soon the silence becomes unbearable, I can see this in his eyes, so he opens his mouth to speak, his gaze fixed on me.


	3. Chapter 3

I felt this song matched Gale, at least the Gale for my fic anyways, and he may seem a bit out of character, but with a different situation than given in the books it's almost inevitable. I went to see Dallas Green's (City and Color) concert last night and when this song came on I immediately thought of Gale and his struggles. It's really beautiful and I hope you all give it a little listen.

What Makes a Man – City and Color

"_I can hear my train comin', it's a lonesome and distant cry._  
><em>I can hear my train comin', now I'm runnin' for my life.<em>  
><em>What makes a man break when he's about to die?<em>  
><em>I think I know, I think I might know.<em>"

* * *

><p>He's staring at me now, and his mouth is moving and his words hit me like a thousand bullets. There's a chill I can't deny seeping from every inch of the room and I shiver involuntarily, and he lays a hand on my knee, its warmth spreading through my body.<p>

"I don't think I could kill you, Madge." His voiced is so pained it seems almost physical, but I can't help but stare.

"I don't think I could kill anyone…" I mumble, not sure of what else to say.

"That's not what I meant! Damn it Madge, I can't kill _you_!" He's yelling in a hushed voice and it hits me like a slap. And I'm more confused now than ever, so I nod and push his hand off my knee. I hate this.

"I think you could, if it came down to it." My voice bites and he jumps back, alarm on his face, and then he grows angry. But it's a tired kind of angry, and he runs his hand through his hair, then over his face.

"So you think I'm a monster?" It's quiet and barely there, but he whimpers and I fight the urge to hold his hand.

"I think you have to capacity to kill, you do it all the time, so killing people you don't know can't be much different." I'm forcing myself to be cruel now, and my chest aches and I just want to go to bed.

"It's funny."

"What?" I'm dumbfounded now because he's laughing, it sounds forced, but he's laughing all the same, and it's almost scary.

"I told Katniss the same thing, but when she killed the boy from D2, I could tell she was sad, not just over that girl, Rue." He sighs now, and buries his face in his hands.

"I'd let you kill me, you know, if you needed to." The words escape my lips before I can hold them back. _So much for the cruel tactic_, I think, gripping a handful of the bed sheets in my fist, twisting the soft silk in my hands.

"Why?" His voice is muffled from his hands and he shifts slightly, looking uncomfortable.

"Because you need to come home, I don't." He doesn't lift his head, but a muffled noise comes from his hands and I can tell he's trying not to cry. It's strange, how easily someone like him can hurt so much in one lifetime. It's like he didn't have enough time for all the hurt piled on him, so he hid it.

It takes what seems like forever, but he lifts his head and his eyes are dry, puffy and red, but dry. He smiles a little with his crooked teeth and I fight the urge to tell him how nice it is, and how he should do it more often. The lamp casts a shadow on his face and he looks old, older than his age, he's a lifetime old.

"Hey Madge, what are your skills?"

"I don't have any." I state blatantly, it's the first time I've said it aloud, it's like announcing my own doom to the guy who might kill me. I don't know why I can trust him so effortlessly, maybe it's the smile.

"You have to have some." He looks confused, not sure of what to do with the information I've given him.

"I can play the piano, my mother likes – er, liked – it when I did, and she says it soothes her headaches." I'm struck by how easily I can talk about my family, when I know I won't see them anymore. I didn't even get to see my father until we were on the stage together and he was trying to keep composed, but a complete wreck anyways.

"Anything useful?" Its bitter sounding, but I can tell he didn't mean to sound offensive.

"No." I snap.

"It's a shame." He mutters, and I hate him.

"Why?"

"We could've been allies."

"The Careers would like you."

"Why?" He sounds disgusted; I know he doesn't want to do what Peeta did, but all's fair in the Hunger Games.

"You're strong, you want to win." I state.

"Don't you?" He looks up at me and it's like he's looking into my soul, his grey eyes are unnerving.

"Don't I what?"

"Want to win?" He asks, tapping his fingers on his knee.

"I don't think I do." It hits me like a ton of bricks, something else I hadn't thought about. There's no chance in me going home, and I'd rather die than kill someone. I'm not strong like Katniss or even Peeta; they wanted to win for the best of reasons, strange as it was. Even Peeta couldn't give up his life for Katniss, he wanted to go home.

"Strange."

And with this he gets up, ruffles my hair, and leaves me, the lamp casting shadows around me and I feel strangely alone. I reach up and touch my hair and a noise escapes my lips, something of a whimper and I wonder why parents would even have a child if this was our fate.

The alarm jolts me awake and I notice I've fallen off the bed and I'm sporting a nasty bruise on my elbow. There's an Avox cleaning up the glass so I smile at them, he's redheaded and tall, and pale, there's no room in my heart to pity him though. I scald my skin in the shower and dress in the training outfit. There's a pair of military-esque pants and combat boots with a tight black t-shirt as well as a tank top. I opt for the tank top and intricately braid my hair like Katniss taught me once when she took me hunting, it gives me little strength and I sigh, heading out to breakfast, my skin crawling with dread.

Gale isn't out of his room yet, I note, so I slip into a seat beside Peeta, he smiles and I smile back, it's halfhearted but I feel so tired that I don't care. Effie is staring at me and I stare back until it makes her uncomfortable, so she averts her eyes and digs into her eggs. Haymitch is watching me intently, the drunken idiot, and I realize this is the first time I've seen him since he called me "Maysilee" on the stage. It suddenly registers to me, my mother's sister, Maysilee went into the games the same year as Haymitch. Something tells me she meant something more than just a fellow tribute to him. The Capitol makes it seem like an emotionless bloodbath, but I can tell nothing is like what they show you.

There's a plate filled high with splendid foods and a mug of steaming brown liquid in a mug beside me. I sniff the air and realize its chocolate, a delicacy even to the mayor's child. I've only had it once before, my father brought home some from his visit to the Capitol. When I pick up my fork to dig into the sweet smelling pancakes, I realize I can't eat. Not that I don't want to, but it turns my stomach and I push it away, grabbing my hot chocolate and heading toward a plush chair, curling up in it. Haymitch and Effie are bickering now, and I can hear yelling in the distance as well. It appears Peeta got up to fetch Gale, but now they're yelling about god only knows what. Gale storms down the hallway and grabs a slice of bread, avoiding the table entirely and joins me in the seating area. He sinks into the chair and curses when he realizes he can't get up. I'm thrown into a fit of hysterical laughter, the hot chocolate tips over on the nice white carpet and I'm rolling around in my chair, trying to muffle my giggles to no avail.

He shoots me a look before gnawing at his bread, tearing pieces off like a savage. He's blushing slightly and it makes me want to go over a touch his cheek, but I don't. After a while, Peeta comes over with a small plate of food, explaining that I need to eat something because training is hard. I ran track in school and took dance, so I know how hard things can be, but I accept it anyways and he sits down on the arm of the chair to watch.

"Peeta Bear, you don't have to watch me eat, I will, I promise." I smile a half-assed smile at him and he nods, opening his mouth to speak, but Gale gets there first.

"_Peeta Bear_?" he snorts indignantly and I shoot him a glare which he returns with a sneer, returning to his bread.

"Shut up Gale." I snap. Peeta places a hand on my shoulder and laughs a little before getting up to get a coffee. His limp is looking worse by the day but I don't ask about it, he'll tell me if he needs to. He looks older too, worn out like he's been through the wash too many times, and I wonder if Gale will be like this if he wins. It would be a shame if he was, he's got so many people looking up to him.

Were ushered to a large room, larger than our school back in District 12, and soon I realize that I really am incompetent. There's the boy from D1, Flicker, who's expertly swinging around a mace type weapon, he's crushing the practice dummies and looks incredibly bored. I shift behind Gale unconsciously and he chuckles under his breath, placing a hand on the small of my back and pushing me lightly ahead of him. The girl from D1, Shimmer, looks like she's distancing herself from him as much as possible but no one could mistake the worried looks she was giving him, so obviously concerned. If I had the capacity to be cruel, I probably would play on this in the arena, but it hurts to even think about, so I push it away. Gale whispers something about finding allies in my ear and then he's gone, the snare section catching his eye. Katniss taught me once how to use a bow and arrow before she left, but the ones here are different and I'm afraid I'm going to make a fool of myself, so I drift my hand over them then leave. There's an assortment of knives, all sorts of sharp looking deadly things, and the boy from D2 is lingering near them, running his hands over the blades looking nearly in tears. So much for the composed behavior of the careers, I mumble to myself as I walk by. There's a little boy sitting cross legged on the floor, swirling his fingers in various paints, before putting them on his arm. I watch him for a bit until he transforms his arm into nearly perfect tree bark. I'm surprised by how talented he is because he's the youngest tribute here, only twelve. He's biting his tongue in concentration so he doesn't notice me watching, but I move on before anyone else does.

I'm finding it hard to find something I can try without making a complete ass out of myself, until I stumble across an area decorated with various strings and ropes. I sink to the floor and the elderly man running the station stares at me, noticing the 12 on my shirt.

"One of you came here last year too, she was so determined, and she had a knack with the knots." I nod, knowing he's talking about Katniss, and pick up some deft looking thin string, I read the description. It's fishing net string, durable, water resistant, and impossible to cut with a knife, I smile and run it through my fingers.

My fingers are long and slender, perfect for playing the piano, and after years of knitting with my mother, my fingers fly and soon I'm creating an intricate net, only helped sometimes by the elderly man who introduces himself as Kell, and he is originally from D4 and made nets as a living. I'm doing this for what seems like hours and soon there's a hand on my shoulder, I jump and my elbow shoots up, an unconscious reaction to strangers with groping hands.

"Sheesh Madge, you've got a little fight in you." I groan, it's Gale and his lip is already swelling.

"Sorry…" I mumble, turning around to go back to my net.

"Besides that, you should come try some physical stuff, throw a knife or a spear, something like that." He pretends to throw a spear and the look on his face makes me giggle.

"I'll make a fool of myself."

"I'll help." He sounds eager and strangely nice, so I put down the net, shake hands with Kell, and brush off my pants to leave.

"Fine, but no teasing though." He grins and pulls me along, and I catch people staring, but his hand feels warm and comforting so I let him, knowing it doesn't mean anything.

He leads me to a corner with a bow and sorts through them all, stretching some, until he finds one for me. He hands it to me and I take it gingerly, the metal exterior nothing like Katniss' wooden one, which was much more pliable as well. I take my stance and line up in front of the target, breathing it slowly, but shakily. Gale slips behind me and places his hand under my elbow, pushing it upwards, whispering in my ear little tricks to get it right. The first arrow hits the border of the target and I curse under my breath, but Gale says I'm doing well so I continue. It takes several more tries, but now it feels more comfortable, so I pull back until the string feels taut and I let it go. It hits the center of the target with a thud, and I let out a squeal. I can feel Gale's lips brush the back of my neck with his breath warm, he whispers into my ear "good job", then squeezes my shoulders and walks to the weightlifting section. I'm surprised by how nice he is to me, and how subtle it is as well.


	4. Chapter 4

The walk down the hall is long and quiet; Gale is several strides ahead of me, rubbing his shoulders. My hands are rubbed raw and are sore and angry, my arm muscles tightened and stiff. If this hurts now, I can only imagine doing this in an arena, without the promise of a warm bed and plenty of food and water. In a week I'll be shipped out into an arena of an unknown setting where I'd sooner curl up in a ball and die then kill anyone just because some bastards with colorful hair and tattoos want me to. There's a nagging feeling in my stomach, or it could just be the hunger talking, but it aches and aches. I don't want to go back yet and face Peeta, Haymitch and Effie of all people. I want to go back to District 12 and get made fun of for being the mayor's daughter all over again, anything would be better than this.

Gale lets out a groan and falls against the wall, slipping to the floor, I rush to him and his face is scrunched up in pain. He's gripping his shoulder and with closer inspection I can tell he dislocated it, _what an idiot_. He's whining like an injured puppy now so I lean in front of him and place my hands on his knees. He pushes them off and leans his head against the wall, letting his arms go slack, and at the same time stifling a groan.

"If you cry I won't talk to you ever again." I playfully threaten, drawing his attention from his shoulder to me.

"A difficult decision then?" He laughs, his deep, booming voice cut off by a tiny whimper escaping through his lips.

"Only if you value my company." I grin.

"Well then, I'll keep my eyes dry as a desert." He flashes me a crooked grin and runs his hand through his hair that's matted with sweat.

I think back to all the times I stared at him from my spot at the lunch table, all the times he ran his hands through his hair and my voice caught in my throat. There was an air of mystery about him, and I fell in love with it. Katniss introduced us once, after years of my pining after him, and my image of him shattered. He used sarcasm as a defense, Katniss would say, but I just thought he hated me.

"Gale…" His head shoots up, expectant.

"Yes?"

"Want me to pop it back in?" I ask, hurriedly and with force, reaching my hand out to point to his shoulder.

"Wait, what!" He looks frantic.

"I could get someone else then, if you don't want me to do it, there must be a medic here." My cheeks are flaming red, I can tell, and my voice keeps catching.

"I trust you." _Trust, trust, trust, trust._

An echo follows his voice, and over and over again it's repeated. His words carry so much weight, and I feel in my chest that he's not referring to his shoulder. His grey eyes are asking things I can't understand, or maybe I don't want to, and he looks remarkably sad. His ruse is gone and he looks so fragile, like a child hidden under this hardened exterior. And in that moment, I realize how really truly effortless it was to trust him; I find I can trust him with my life. Which, I guess, I will.

"Besides that, I want to ask you something." My voice is barely a whisper.

"Anything."

"Can we be allies?"

"I was hoping you'd say that." He smiles and I crumble to pieces. I'm not the least bit guarded around him, and if he chose to turn on me, I wouldn't have enough time to think before he snapped my neck. But all the same, I'm glad we can stay together a while longer before one of us dies.

A good night sleep is hard to come by here and the days and nights pass by like a dream. Training is hard, but what's even harder is the underlying dread of the interviews and even more so the day after, the day I'll die. I don't find it bitter though, it's like waiting for the end. Knowing you're going to die is no fun, there's no sense of mystery when it's written in stone, the only thing left to wonder is how. I can only hope it's quick and painless, but the odds of that happening are slim. But maybe, just maybe, the odds will be in my favor this time around, but for D12 they never are.

* * *

><p>The interviews are today and I'm busying myself by picking at my nails, and watching Peeta draw. We don't have to train today; most of the day will be spent getting ready for the interviews. Plus, there is no point in training now, tomorrow we go into the arena, and if we're not prepared by now then we never will be. He's sketching the nightdress I'm wearing, the blue material matching my eyes, the rings under my eyes black as night and my hair stringy and unkempt. My stomach turns at the thought of whatever my stylist will put me in, I hate being a sex symbol. This is not how I wanted to earn sponsors, not at all. But I wait anyways, counting down the hours, then the minutes and ultimately the seconds until Lance, my stylist, arrives to dress me. His colorful women will be there to strip me and bathe me and fluff my hair and wax me and all sorts of unpleasant things.<p>

Gale saunters into the room several hours later and I realize I must have been up since the crack of dawn. I didn't realize as much because Peeta was already up, and then it hits me, perhaps he didn't sleep at all. I never hear him go to bed, nor do I hear him wake up. He's just always sitting there, sketching, mostly images of Katniss in the arena. It's a bitter thought and I wonder if Gale was like this after Katniss died, or perhaps if he'll be like this if he wins. I shake the thought and watch him pace, and every so often he'll steal a glance at me when he thinks I'm not looking. His eyes look red and he's probably been crying, sometimes I can hear him across the hall moaning about his family. How he can't protect them anymore and how he's left Katniss' family all alone as well. I want to go over and hold him but I can't bring myself to do it. More than anything else, I just want to kiss his tears away and skip ahead to the part where he wins and gets to go home to his family. We make eye contact when the clock chimes announcing the stylist's arrival and we give each other a shrug before were whisked off to get ready.

It takes hours to even prep me for my dress, and I'm falling asleep in the chair. My hair is down and in loose curls paired with a slim golden band placed across my forehead. My nails are painted a ruby red and my body is seemingly tanner than before, seemingly impossible for my pale skin. My skin almost shimmers in the light and I feel trashy and I can't help but wonder how this will get me any sponsors at all. I'm ushered into another room where my dress is and it's dropped over my head like a sheet of the night sky. It's jet black and shimmering, there's a slit up the side reaching halfway up my thigh and it's making me uncomfortable. It only has one sleeve that is sheer and covers my whole arm; my other arm is decorated with a slim gold band running around my upper arm that matches the one on my forehead. The end of the dress runs behind me and fades into a burning red that smokes. My stylist assures me it's only an effect and I'm not on fire, but after seeing Katniss' dress it makes me wonder. Lance gestures to a pair of heels and I slip them on, staggering to keep standing. They're red like the embers of a fire and the color is so real and threatening to me. Before heading off to the interviews he runs his hands down my hips to smooth out the dress and I cringe.

We're waiting behind a curtain, all lined up against the wall and I'm shaking like a wet dog. Gale runs his hand over mine and it calms me down, but not by much. Neither of us are exactly the greatest at wowing a crowd and the looks we're getting from our fellow tributes aren't helping either. Gale is wearing a sleek black suit paired with a crisp white dress shirt with the jacket hanging open. He's not wearing a tie, giving it a laidback look, but he's wearing a gold band around his wrist, a slight touch that makes us match. His hair is slicked back and he's more handsome than any of the boys I see in front of me, but I don't comment on it. There's something hanging from his ear and it glints in the fluorescent lights. He doesn't flinch when I reach up to touch it and I notice it's a golden flame earring. It's subtle, but there's a tiny Mockingjay etched into it, it's barely there but it confirms my previous suspicions. Last year, Katniss' stylist strayed from the crowd and recreated the look of D12; carrying with it the Mockingjay pin I gave Katniss. And now I'm afraid it means something different. I take a look at the golden band on my arm and realize the same image is etched into it and I don't need to look twice to know it's on my forehead as well. My breath catches in my throat and Gale puts his hand on the small of my back, leaning in close to whisper in my ear.

"_Rebellion_." His breath is hot and heavy on my neck and I shiver, feeling it all the way down my spine. One word, one single word whispered into my ear gets my heart racing in the most unpleasant way and I feel dazed.

Something stranger than the games is taking place and I'm afraid that I'm caught up in the middle. Finishing what Katniss never got the chance to do, or perhaps, what Peeta is too scared to do. Gale gives me a knowing look when he leans away, followed by a slight flick of his head towards to the stage where Caesar Flickerman is waiting for me. There's no one left in front of me now and I stumble towards the stage, ready to throw up my guts over the smooth surface of the massive stage.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing I focus on is the white leather seat, so strange and different from any kind of chair I've seen, other than on the television. The second thing, and definitely more important thing, is that his hair is a bright fuchsia color, along with his eyebrows and lips. He gives me an open-mouth smile and gestures to the crowd as his booming words project over the hundreds of Capitol people, a sea of bright colors and strange faces. He introduces me and shakes my hand, I squeeze back as tight as I can and he jerks his hand away before sitting down. I take my seat as well and smooth out my dress, positioning it so I'm not revealing too much.

"Good Evening Margaret Undersee of District 12, how are you?" His voice is cheery and laced with a sweetness layered on thick.

"I'm fine, and you?" I'm used to being proper and poised with men from the Capitol, but this man looks so strange I'm finding it hard to not run away and hide under a bed like I did when I was little.

"Splendid, darling! My, oh my, that is an eye-catching dress, is it not?" He grins and I can feel the eyes of the men of the capitol on me, I can picture their grubby hands all over me. I watched him interview Katniss last year and he was so much different, but he seems to have lost his spark. He's less childlike and more serious man, it unnerves me, those games last year really changed everyone.

"My stylist has quite a talent in making someone like me look so beautiful." I smile politely and he laughs.

"I dare say he didn't have to try that hard, did he?" He's addressing the crowd and they're all whistling and clapping. This place is truly a candy coated horror show.

"Now, let's get down to business, shall we?" I smile and nod, feeling queasy.

"How did you feel when you were chosen for our special Games?" Everyone's eyes are on me and I swallow and then breathe out, preparing my answer.

"I was thrilled, what better way to get to see the entire splendor this beautiful place has to offer." I can practically taste the sugar on my words as they leave my lips.

"Of course, of course, and are we up to your standards?" What a joke.

"Oh darling, it's everything I dreamed of and more." I trill, crossing my legs to reveal my cream colored skin, leaning forward ever so slightly.

He looks delighted at how I'm participating, his mouth opening wide and his teeth sparkling white, and I can see Lancelot in the crowd of stylists, nodding his little head, glitter falling from his golden tresses. We banter on for a while longer until our time is through and I'm about to empty my stomach on his fuchsia shoes. He finally asks me if I think I have the chance to win, but I just smile and push the question away, saying he'll have to wait and see. I'd like to cry out and scream and run off the stage, but they'd kill me in the first minute of the Games, just for being spiteful.

"Oh dear, it seems we've run out of time, I'm sad to see you go." He fake pouts and I want to vomit on his face.

"I look forward to you all watching me tomorrow." I smile and rub my lips together slightly, leaning in and gripping his arms, placing a red-lipped kiss on his cheek. It's ever so slight and I'm not quite sure I heard right, but he leans in close and his breath tickles my ear when he speaks.

"The Mockingjay lives."

And then I'm gone, waving to the crowd and before I step off the stage I see Caesar addressing the crowd again, pointing to his cheek and laughing. There's an image of my lips left on his cheek and he looks thrilled, the crowd goes wild. I'm struggling with his words and I run my fingertips along my ear, brushing where his breath touched. Even his breath smelled sickly, of sugar and candy.

Gale spots me before he continues onto the stage, his face hardened and his lips pressed together. Before he turns his back to me and disappears through the curtain he turns back and smiles, showing his crooked grin, his dimples crinkling. I look around and notice there's a gurney pushing a boy down the hall who's complaining loudly about his nose, saying it's probably broken. He's yelling about the dirty, poor boy from District 12 and how he's going to kill him first. That's Gale for you, no conscience, he just acts out because he can. I only wish he kept his mouth shut since we're allies now, we're going to have to look out for each other and I can't help him when he's already a certain target to what seems to be a career. I don't wait for Gale's interview to finish, I don't want to hear anything he answers with for reasons I don't even know myself. So, I complain of a bad stomach and I'm lead to my room by a handsome looking Avox, who smiles without words before closing the door behind him. I think I'm supposed to return my dress to my stylist but instead, just out of spite, I take it off and slip it down the garbage chute, followed shortly by the heels that have blistered my feet. If he wants it back that bad, he can go down after it, before the fire comes and burns the garbage.

I walk naked to my room, hardly noticing the Avox stationed next to the window, and I change quickly into loose fitted pants and a tank top, throwing a cashmere sweater over the thin material. I go to the bathroom and wash my face, scrubbing it clean, and then I comb out my hair, brushing it out until it turns silken, then I shove it into a crude ponytail, padding back into my room, barefooted and weak. My hand flies out and the remote for the wall-fitted screen crashes to the ground, the back breaking open and batteries spilling out. I pick them up carefully, and I attempt to fit them back in, but they won't go the way I want them. One again it drops to the floor and I'm angered by how incapable I am. How inept. I shut off the light in my room and spill into the hallway when I hear voices. Peeta's talking in a hushed voice and Effie is talking in her shrill voice, obviously upset by something. I can't hear Gale though, only his heavy tread on the soft, carpeted floor. His footsteps are only heavy when there's a weight on him; he's as silent as a ghost in the woods.

I seek him out, narrowly avoiding confrontation with the purple haired with, with her powdered face and golden lips. He's in his own room, and I slip through the door, letting it close behind me. He looks up at me and I can tell he's cradling his left hand, and there's a dent in the wall just behind him.

"You're such an idiot." I whisper, and close him in my tiny arms, holding him together as he falls apart.


End file.
